"What!"
"The Biloxi police have him."
She unlocked the chain and opened the door. They stood in the foyer, facing each other. Cutter was thoroughly enjoying himself.
"What's he done?" she asked.
"I think he'll be released soon."
"I'll call my lawyer."
"Fine, but there's something I should tell you first. We have it from a good source that Lance has been trying to locate a hit man to take out your husband, Patrick Lanigan."
"No!" She covered her mouth with a hand. The surprise seemed real.
"Yes. And you could be implicated. It's your money Lance is trying to protect, and I'm sure you'll be considered a co-conspirator. If something happens to Lanigan, we'll come here first."
"I haven't done anything."
"Not yet. We're watching you very closely, Mrs. Lanigan."
"Don't call me that."
"Sorry."
Cutter left her standing in the foyer.
SANDY PARKED in a lot off Canal around midnight, and darted down Decatur and into the heart of the French Quarter. His client had lectured him sternly about security, especially when meeting Leah. Only Sandy could lead them to her, and so he must be extremely cautious. "She's in grave danger, Sandy," Patrick had told him an hour before. "You can't be too careful."
He walked around one block three times, and when he was certain no one could possibly be behind him, he ducked into an open bar, where he drank a soda and watched the sidewalk. Then he walked across the street to the Royal Sonesta. He milled about the lobby with the tourists, then he rode the elevator to the third floor. Leah opened the door and locked it behind him.
Not surprisingly, she looked tired and wrung out.
"I'm sorry about your father," Sandy said. "Have you heard anything?"
"No. I've been traveling." There was a tray of coffee on top of the television. Sandy poured a cup and stirred in sugar. "Patrick told me about it," he said. "Who are these people?"
"There's a file over there," she said, nodding at a small table. "Please sit." She was pointing at the end of the bed. Sandy sat with his coffee, and waited. It was time for a talk.
"We met two years ago, in 1994, after his surgery in Rio. Patrick said he was a Canadian businessman who needed a lawyer with experience in trade matters. But he really needed a friend. I was a friend for two days, then we fell in love. He told me everything about his past, everything. He had done a perfect job of escaping, and he had lots of money, but Patrick could not forget his past. He was determined to know who was chasing him, and how close they were. In August of 1994, I came to the U.S., and I made contact with a private security firm in Atlanta. It's an odd name, the Pluto Group, a bunch of ex-FBI types Patrick had found before he disappeared. I gave them a false name, told them I was from Spain, and that I needed information about the search for Patrick Lanigan. I paid them fifty thousand dollars. They, in turn, sent people to Biloxi, where they at first made contact with Patrick's old law firm. They pretended to have some vague information about his whereabouts, and the lawyers very quietly referred them to a man in Washington named Jack Stephano. Stephano is a high-priced sleuth who specializes in corporate espionage and the locating of missing people. They met with him in Washington. He was very secretive and told them little, but it was obvious he was running the search for Patrick. They met with him several times, and the prospect of a reward popped up. They offered to sell their information, and Stephano agreed to pay fifty thousand dollars if it led to Patrick. In the course of these meetings, they learned that Stephano had good reason to believe Patrick was in Brazil. This, of course, terrified Patrick and me."
"This was Patrick's first hint that they knew he was in Brazil?"
"Absolutely. He had been there for over two years. When he told me the truth about his past, he had no idea if his pursuers were on the right continent. To learn they were in Brazil was devastating."
"Why didn't he run again?"
"Lots of reasons. He thought about it. We talked about it forever. I was willing to leave with him. But in the end, he was convinced he could disappear even farther into the country. He knew it well-the language, the people, the endless places to hide. Plus, he didn't want me to leave my home. I guess we should've run to China or some place."
"Maybe you couldn't run."
"Maybe. I kept in touch with the Pluto Group. They were hired to monitor the' Stephano investigation as best they could. They contacted his client, Mr. Benny Aricia, with the same story about possible information. They also contacted the insurance companies. All calls were referred to Jack Stephano. I flew in every three or four months, always from some place in Europe, and they would tell me what they had discovered."
"How did Stephano find him?"
"I can't tell you that story now. Patrick will have to do it."
Another black hole, and a rather significant one. Sandy placed his coffee on the floor and tried to sort things out. It would certainly be easier if these two would tell him everything. Start at the beginning, bring it forward to the present, so that he, the lawyer, could help them with their immediate future. Perhaps they didn't need any help.
So Patrick knew how he'd been found.
She handed him the thick folder from the table. "These are the people who have my father," she said.
"Stephano?"
"Yes. I'm the only person who knows where the money is, Sandy. The kidnapping is a trap."
"How does Stephano know about you?"
"Patrick told them."
"Patrick?"
"Yes. You've seen the burns, haven't you?"
Sandy stood and tried to clear his head. "Then why didn't Patrick tell them where the money is?"
"Because he didn't know."
"He gave it all to you."
"Something like that. I have control of it. Now I'm being chased, and my poor father is caught in the middle."
"What am I supposed to do?"
She opened a drawer and removed a similar but thinner file. "This contains information about the FBI investigation of Patrick. We didn't learn much, for obvious reasons. The agent in charge is a man named Cutler, in Biloxi. As soon as I knew Patrick had been captured, I called Cutter. It probably saved Patrick's life."
"Slow down. This is hard to follow."
"I told Cutter that Patrick Lanigan had been found, and that he was in the custody of people working for Jack Stephano. We assume the FBI went straight to Stephano and threatened him. His operatives in Brazil tortured Patrick for a few hours, almost killed him, then handed him over to the FBI."
Sandy absorbed every word with his eyes closed hard. "Go on," he said.
"Two days later, Stephano was arrested in Washington and his offices were locked up."
"How do you know this?"
"I'm still paying a lot of money to the men at Pluto. They're very good. We suspect that Stephano is talking to the FBI, while at the same time quietly pursuing me. And my father."
"What am I supposed to tell Cutter?"
"First, tell him about me. Describe me as a lawyer who is very close to Patrick, that I'm making decisions for him, and that I know everything. Then, tell him about my father."
"And you think the FBI will lean on Stephano?"
"Maybe, maybe not. But we have nothing to lose."
It was almost one, and she was very tired. Sandy gathered the files and headed for the door.